Because I'm a Villain
by ImJessieTR
Summary: Nicky Holiday has been hired by Doc Hopper to prove his worth as the greatest criminal.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: There will be violence. Wanna know why all this is going on? Read Act 1 of The Comeback King Saga.

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

The sixty-eight-year-old Caucasian man deftly scrambled up the long black fire escape in the downpour, slipping only twice. He focused only on breathing, which was beginning to be labored, and his movements. His joints weren't nearly as well-oiled as they used to be. Still, he couldn't stop.

That freak would get him sooner or later.

He popped over the edge of the roof and sat down, glancing at his glowing watch to ensure he didn't take too long to catch his breath. He was getting too old for this. So, too, apparently, was his opponent – which was why the hired help was chasing him.

Four years he had spent in prison. Three long years trying to get all that was rightfully his, namely, his personal affects and a job. He had finally found work two years later as a theme park security guard, but after misinterpreting a situation with his most recent employer's visiting friends, he had found himself once again scrounging around for a paycheck.

And then he met that real estate guy, twelve years later, which was last year. The man chuckled. To think: while he had been wealthy and was now miserably poor, that moron used to actually be some pathetic fast food nobody and now found himself rising among the real estate tycoons, particularly in the southwest.

The man wiped the rain off his forehead and stood up to continue running. There was a staircase just across the roof leading inside the building. He glanced around. The nearest building was just across an alley, maybe thirty feet. He frowned. That was far too risky.

His heartbeat quickened as he heard slow and steady footsteps come up the fire escape. The _arrogance_, he thought to himself, as if this was _Looney Tunes_ and he was the frantic cat and his pursuer was the confident skunk, just happily bouncing his way to his prey. He searched around his black jumpsuit's tool belt and found a small screwdriver. It'd be hard to use it to make the fire escape stairs fall away, and he'd be vulnerable to any shots fired. So, he nodded and tucked himself into the corner of the rooftop and the edge, grasping the screwdriver tightly, his jaw set in determination.

A tall lanky man with a long brown poncho hopped over the edge of the rooftop. The hiding man thrust the screwdriver right into the back of his pursuer's knee. He watched the other one crumple in pain, a smirk forming on his lips.

The victor stood, gloating, the rain dripping off his graying dark brown hair. He smirked. "Go tell that eighty-year-old bum he has no idea who he's dealing with." He kicked the guy over … only to find an athletic, tan-skinned, chiseled young man, who even managed to grin through his pain. The victor looked confused. "I thought he sent Walker after me."

The crumpled man laughed, nodding. "I _am_ Walker." He took his good leg and kicked his prey in the shins, bringing him down. The injured man took a silvery trident-like harpoon and swiped at his prey's chest, making bright red lines that soon mixed with the rain.

The first man winced and chuckled, cringing. "You gotta give me that youth recipe."

Walker stood up, keeping his weight on his good leg. "Pest extermination's a family business." He shrugged. "Too bad you're a pest. Dad actually admired your persistence."

The prey laughed. "And here I thought I was too spoiled, using all that high-tech equipment."

Walker shrugged. "We all use the tools that fit us best. Question is, is that still good enough?" He pulled out the screwdriver from the back of his knee and casually tossed it to his prey. He frowned as he saw his prey glance behind him. He turned only to meet a fist coming for him.

All was black.

An elderly pale man, nearly skeletal he was so thin, seemed like a ghost under his broad black hat and scarf and goggles. He, too, wore a dark brown poncho and thick rubbery boots that went all the way up to his thighs. He didn't laugh, he didn't smile, he didn't frown … he was emotionless.

"So much … for … family," the prey grunted. "How could you attack one of your own, Snake?"

"_My_ paycheck," growled Snake curtly. He took out a gun and a trident-shaped harpoon and loaded it, aiming it straight at his quarry. He remained expressionless, but his voice had a tinge of pride. "No more holidays," he said as he fired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: You're Hired**

The Caucasian man glanced over at the news playing on the television in the bar. The yellow-skinned news reporter with the dark-rimmed glasses and the tussled brown hair seemed to read his notes just a little slower than usual.

"Today," he began, squinting at his notes, "the soft teddy bears attacked the town of soft teddy bears and continued until shots of soft teddy bears were fired. Casualties include five soft teddy bears and three young soft teddy bears. Details on the Muppet News website."

"Heh," laughed the green-skinned Frank Sinatra-wannabe Muppet bartender. "Poor slob finally cracked."

"Oh?" asked the male patron.

The bartender nodded. "He musta got tired of all the stuff that lands on 'im on his show. It started yesterday: he just goes around replacin' every word wit' soft fuzzy stuff so he won't get hurt." He chuckled some more. "An' I hear ghostwriters write the true news stories on that website." He passed his patron another drink. "I guess even after, what, thirty years – even _he_ wants respect."

"Don't we all," the patron muttered.

The bartender nodded. "Hard ta get that respect when all you can say is 'soft teddy bears', though." He shook his head, drying some glasses behind the bar. "That mook could use some respect, though. That poor guy's been beat up nearly his entire career."

"Does it really affect the ratings _that_ much?"

"Nah," the bartender replied, "he'd have ta be a beautiful naked woman ta get _real_ good ratings, know what I'm sayin'?"

The patron nodded and laughed.

"Well," announced a cheerful aged male voice with a Southern drawl, "Ah sure do hope you can still talk an' didn't drink the bartender outta all his inventory yet."

The patron wearily turned his head to find a fat Caucasian man with nearly white hair, dressed in a white suit and a pale beige cowboy hat. The patron sighed and nodded once. "Hopper."

Hopper grinned, laughing, slapping the other man on the back hard. "Well, shoot, boy, you sure are a sight for sore eyes! Ah'm surprised you said you'd wandah on ovah here."

The man shrugged and stared at his drink. "A job's a job."

Hopper nodded and sat down and ordered himself an appletini. "'Course, you gotta _get_ that job, first. Now, Ah'm not one ta drone on an' on durin' an interview, so Ah'll make it short an' sweet. You got a name?"

"Rick Hollandaise."

Hopper chuckled. "Now, don't go tryin' ta kid a kiddah, boy. Aliases are for folks who are ashamed o' what they're doin'. You stand by your job, then you stand by your name."

"Nicky Holiday," the man mumbled, gulping down his drink.

"Holiday, huh?" Hopper replied, stroking his chin. "Ain't you the guy who -."

"—tried to steal the Baseball Diamond," Nicky finished. He nodded. "Yes, that would be me. Spent four years in prison for that."

Hopper grinned and elbowed Nicky, his voice nearly a whisper. "Tell me, Nick – did it _really_ happen the way it happened in that movie?"

Nicky glared at him and shrugged. "More or less."

Hopper took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief. "You sure don't commit to your answers, do ya Nick?" He replaced his hat. "Still, Ah reckon if there was a movie suggestin' Ah had a girlfriend more fit for the plate than the bedroom, Ah wouldn't exactly advertise it neither."

_Nicky stood in the pristine office where a thin middle-aged woman with raven black hair pulled up under a small bouquet of black and white flowers sat at her desk. She looked up and smirked, speaking with a British accent. "Are you still there?"_

"_I'll leave when I have my things," he replied._

"_You left most of your things in college." She flipped through a magazine. "Besides, isn't there some thrift store for the homeless where you can find some flowered socks and atrocious ties?"_

_Nicky sighed and rolled his eyes. "Just give them to me, Sis. Are they in the safe?"_

_His sister smirked. "Only valuable items are in the safe, Nicky."_

_He clenched his fists. "You realize of course that no one likes you. You're so stuck up your nose is in the stratosphere."_

"_Oh, look, Nicky remembered a three-syllable word from college." She pressed a button to contact her secretary in another room. "Amanda, be a dear and cite today as the day my brother found the ability to use words above a year two vocabulary."_

"_Ha – HA," Nicky retorted sarcastically._

_She placed the magazine gently on the desk and glared at him. "Nicky, you would still HAVE your things if you hadn't blown them as soon as you were old enough to leave the house – AND if you hadn't found yourself incarcerated stealing MY things." She sighed. "I simply can't comprehend you, brother. You could have had it all and yet you threw it all away."_

_Nicky grinned. "You STILL think it was about the money? It was NEVER about the money," he shot back, chuckling. "I could care less about it, myself." He shook his head. "Didn't it ever occur to you that I only stole from YOU?"_

"_It did," his sister replied. "I merely surmised you were too lazy to take things from across the street."_

"_The only reason people like you is for your money. You know that, right?"_

"_Nicky, do try to be decisive, dear. First you say that no one likes me and now you postulate that people DO like me, but only for my money." She shrugged. "I still don't see the problem with having money. I am a successful business woman. I do not require people enjoying my company because of my personality."_

"_I do," Nicky whispered, looking out the large plate glass window._

_She stared at him in wonder. "You don't HONESTLY believe she cared for you."_

_Nicky continued to avoid contact. "She didn't know who I was at first. She didn't know I had money."_

"_No, I was the one with the money," his sister corrected. "Besides, we were at the Dubonnet Club. You can't get in at all without money."_

"_She didn't have much money. Didn't you see that photographer bumming for cash?"_

_Lady Holiday nodded. "At least it was legal. Tasteless, but legal."_

_Nicky sighed. "Still, I don't want you talking about her."_

_Lady Holiday smiled, clasping her hands together and resting her elbows on the desk. "I HAD to. Your backstory had to go SOMEWHERE."_

Nicky grit his teeth and whipped around, grabbing Hopper by the throat. "You better use that mouth to hire me or order drinks – because if you use it for anything that upsets me, you'll find out just how far I'm willing to go to shut you up," he hissed.

Hopper was completely unruffled, grinning. "That was mah _other_ question, actually. Just what ARE your limits, Nick?"

"I prefer to keep that to myself," he replied, letting Hopper go.

"Well, Ah'm afraid Ah can't accept such an answer. See, here's the thing … Ah don't like mah employees tuckin' tail when the chase is on."

"I'm not exactly qualified to be muscle," Nicky told him. "Why don't you go hire some stupid body-builder to intimidate your tenants?"

Hopper chuckled. "Well, first of all, they ain't mah tenants … yet. Second of all, Ah may be an old-fashioned kind o' guy, but bustin' folks up is so – so – last century, ya hear?" He shook his head and plopped a hundred dollar bill on the counter. "Mah plans require a tad more 'so-phist-i-ca-tion', if ya get mah meanin'."

"In other words, you don't want your name attached to the deed," Nicky replied. "And _I'm_ the one who can't stand by my work?"

Hopper laughed. "Ah always stand by mah _legal_ work," Hopper answered cheerfully, tugging at his jacket. "For all that other stuff – Ah only stand by the work that is _successful_. So, if'n ya don't want me ta be all hypocritical-like, Ah suggest you make sure you can do it right." Hopper nodded again and turned to leave. "We'll discuss all the little fine points later. It's been good seein' ya, Nick." He left.

Nicky turned to the bartender, who smirked. Nicky winked and sang briefly, "_I'm hired! I hope I don't get fired! In forty years I'll be retired – but for now I'm merely hired_!"

The bartender chuckled and nodded knowingly, apparently sharing in the love of _Mystery Science Theater 3000_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Second Chances**

Doc Hopper ran his fingers briskly through his short white hair as he stared at the purple, shaggy, wide-mouthed, blonde-haired, bushy browed … creature. He chuckled. "Ta be perfectly honest," he told her, "Ah expected someone _else_ fer the interview."

The creature nodded. She replied in a raspy voice that made one want to claw through a wall to get away, "But ya didn't get what ya wanted, now _did_ ya? Now shut up and answer my stupid questions."

Hopper raised an eyebrow and glanced out the window of the tall news building in a small neighborhood in Manhattan. "Mah apologies," he finally said, "please continue."

The female creature scoffed. "Don't apologize! It's rude!" she barked. "Now, what's yer name, Humpty Dumpty?"

Hopper grit his teeth. Finally, a light went off in his head. He grinned and leaned closer. "What's _yer_ name, ya vile, misbegotten bag o' ratty fur?"

The creature laughed and nodded. "If it were any of yer business, which it ain't, I'd say my name is Diane Spoiler, reporter for the Grouch News Network."

Hopper nodded and leaned back. "And if it meant gettin' you outta mah hair, _Ah'd_ say _mah_ name was Doc Hopper."

"What hair?" she shot back with a grin. "Seein' how you've been rakin' in the dough buyin' up all kinds of properties all across the nation, and as long as yer story's interestin', I'd like ta feature your life story in a segment that'll probably never air." She shrugged. "It's just as well, too – ain't no Grouch got a workin' TV anyway."

Hopper stroked his chin. "Well, Ah suppose we could start at the beginnin'…."

"It's only a half-hour segment," she interrupted.

Hopper chuckled. "Well, I'll just give the abbreviated version, then."

Diane Spoiler shook her head. "Nah, go for it! It'll get a lot of laughs when ya get cut off in mid-sentence."

"Well," he began, "when Ah was just a little -."

Nicky found himself wandering Central Park, helping himself to a hot dog here and a water bottle there, smirking that the vendors remained oblivious. Far too easy. Hopper had brought him here to "deal with" a neighborhood for practice. The _real_ scam, he had said, would be elsewhere.

"_Get yer meathooks off me_!" screamed a shrill female voice, followed by a loud splash in the nearby Bethesda Fountain.

Nicky glanced over at the fountain. Under the tall stony angel statue was a drenched man, cursing at a three-foot-tall (or so) pig in a purple tank top and designer jeans, her short layered blonde hair swishing behind her.

He grinned. "Piggy?"

Miss Piggy gasped and turned around, wide-eyed. Her jaw flew open. "Nicky?" She glanced to her left and to her right nervously.

Nicky slowly approached. "Are you alright? Are you with Kermit still?"

"Still?" Piggy asked, dazed, before she caught herself. "Um, I mean," she laughed, "naturalement!" She laughed again. "What brings vous to New York?" she asked, gulping.

Nicky grinned seductively. "Opportunity," he replied with his most suave voice.

Piggy's lower lip trembled. She batted her eyes to try to take the focus off her lips and nodded. "Vous found employment?"

Nicky nodded. "I'm a lucky man."

"I bet," Piggy muttered under her breath. She shrugged. "Are vous seeing anyone?" she asked in a slightly hopeful tone.

Nicky shrugged and pouted briefly. "Only the ones I need to see."

Piggy started breathing more quickly.

Nicky changed his tone to concern. "I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

Piggy looked around again and scoffed. "Vous haven't inconvenienced moi," she replied cheerfully. "It's a free country." She glanced at him for a few seconds. "And _you're_ free, I see."

Nicky sighed, shaking his head. "Piggy, you _know_ I wasn't _nearly_ as bad as that two-bit hack Grodin played me," he told her quietly. "I _never_ framed you." He clutched at his chest. "It broke my _heart_ to see that." He kneeled in front of her. "How could you _be_ so vindictive?"

Piggy stared at the ground and shrugged slightly. "It … it wasn't moi. I didn't write the thing, you know," she replied softly. "It was merely a setup for moi's spectacular entrance into the finale."

He smirked. "It was slander."

Piggy's head shot up with a gasp. "You – you're not going to _sue_, are vous?"

He stood, stroking his chin and looking away. "I suppose I could be convinced to forgive and forget … over dinner," he told her with a grin.

"Oui," she replied quickly.

"We what?"

"Pardon?"

"You were beginning to say we would do something …."

Piggy growled, rolling her eyes. "Oui means yes in _French_, you incorrigible, horrendous, two-timing freak!"

Nicky chuckled. "You remember," he told her with a wink.

"_Good evening, sonny," the grisled fat farmer said as he rocked on the decaying front porch, chewing on a stick._

"_Hi, Dad," a thin young boy replied gloomily._

_The father stopped rocking and leaned forward, nodding. "You look depressed."_

_The boy nodded and looked away at the coming storm far off in the distance. "Ah am."_

_An athletic woman with curly blonde hair pulled up under a white bandanna came out of the house, the screen door creaking. She wore a plain denim dress and a pink apron. "Come in an' have some lemonade," she told her son with a smile._

_The boy shook his head and plopped down on the steps to the porch. "Thanks, Mom – but that won't help."_

_The father leaned over and patted his son on the shoulder. "Just get it off yer chest."_

_The boy sighed. "O-kay," he replied slowly. He inhaled. "Ah suck at mah job!" he shouted angrily, pounding his fists on the porch._

_The father leaned back. "No, you don't!"_

"_Yes, Ah do!" he retorted. "Mah friends are all slobs!"_

"_No, they aren't!" his mother protested in shock._

"_Yes, they do!"_

"_What?" replied the parents in confused unison._

"An' then," Doc Hopper continued, sipping some sweet iced tea in front of the grouch reporter, "Dad took me to the barn where he learned me how ta kill mah first few chickens fer supper." He shook his head. "Ah was traumatized fer years."

"Great!" announced Diane Spoiler happily. "You suffered a horrible, terrible, _disgusting_ event!" She paused. "And that made you a better man?"

"Oh, nat'rally," Hopper replied with a grin. "Ah had mah dream starin' me right in the face – one thousand fast food restaurants. It was only as an adult that Ah settled on mah own special recipes." He chuckled and burped. "Ah was gonna prove to mah pops that Ah could slaughter with the best o' them. Y'know – _make_ somethin' of mahself!"

"How appalling!"

"Thank you," Hopper offered, nodding and grinning, sipping some more tea.

"So, what drove you to change over to real estate?"

He inhaled. "Well, it all started when Ah got busted fer some fool charge," he told her with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "They said Ah was guilty of attempted murder, even though Ah swear – Ah _nevah_ laid a single finger o' mine on _anyone_!" He nodded. "It was only after mah lawyer gave the judge a piece o' his mind that Ah was set free." He chuckled. "Now, Ah'm pretty well-known fer mah lovin', compassionate nature, 'specially fer the young-un's. Yes'm, Ah'm practically good ol' Jolly Saint Nick in some of the most impoverished hoods!" He cackled loudly, nearly kicking the small table between them over.

Author's Note: We continue with the MST3K references, as I thought they were funny, LOL.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways….**

Piggy stared at an old gray stone castle atop a hill, as bats flew out of the top windows while the sun began to set. She shivered.

Nicky smiled and draped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to a small bench in the small park they happened to be visiting after dinner.

Piggy placed a hand on his arm, not looking at him – still transfixed on the castle. "Nicky," she whispered.

He took his arm away. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "That was rather forward of me."

She nodded. "Yes. Yes it was." She sighed. "I love Kermit."

"Piggy, what we had may very well be something you'll never, ever get with that frog," Nicky offered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"And what's that?" she responded with a slight growl.

"Mutual affection," he noted tenderly, staring at her. She looked so lovely in the night.

She shook her head. "You don't know Kermie like I do, Nicky," she told him. "He really _does_ love moi."

"Don't you want to _hear_ it sometimes, though?" he asked. "Don't you ever get tired of just _assuming_ he loves you?"

"He's not a criminal."

Nicky leaned back and clutched his chest, his face expressing fake pain. "Oh! You cut me to the quick!" He changed back to a soft, suave expression and tenderly stroked her chin with his index finger. "You deserve to be pampered. You deserve to be loved openly and without regret." A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder made him jump.

"That happens a lot around here," Piggy noted casually. She glanced over at him and giggled. "Would vous like a security blanket?"

He panted, wide-eyed, and glanced down at Piggy. "There are no _clouds_! No storms! How can there be lightning?"

Piggy shrugged. "It just sorta happens sometimes, 'specially around _that_ place." She shook her head. "Never made sense to moi, either."

"Is it a museum?"

"No, Kermie said some rich guy with OCD lives there."

Nicky frowned. "Some rich guy?"

Piggy nodded. "I believe I've met him before at a Christmas party once, back in the eighties," she told him thoughtfully. "He takes the whole Bela Lugosi thing kind of seriously."

Nicky smirked and stood, nodding toward the castle. "Let's go say hi," he offered cheerfully.

Piggy smiled. "Vous couldn't even bare to look at it before now."

"Ah," he replied, smiling widely and holding up an index finger high in the air, "but I'm looking now!" He gently took her arm. "Let's go see what's inside."

Piggy frowned and tore her arm away. "Are you just trying to scope the place?" she asked curtly.

Nicky shook his head. "Of course not, dear!" He caressed her face. "Don't you, my petite porcine princess, find castles romantic?"

"But sweetie," she replied with a forced seductiveness, "it's not a public castle."

"So?"

Piggy sighed, rolling her eyes, and taking him by the arm. "If we get busted for this – I don't know you and you kidnapped me," she whispered.

Nicky laughed.

Soon the reached heavy wooden doors with a large bat-shaped opening near the top. Nicky looked at the doors. "It's unlocked?"

"Nicky, stop! We can't do this!" she pleaded finally.

Nicky shook his head. "Don't act like you hate being spontaneous." He gently elbowed her. "I know you like just running off at the drop of a hat."

"There's a _teeny weeny_ difference between heading off to a commercial shoot and _trespassing_!" she hissed.

"Grow up, Piggy," he whispered back as they entered the castle.

Just as they entered a large room with pointed arch ceiling and a massive pipe organ, a thunderclap was heard, making them both squeak in fear.

"Who is in my castle?" a male voice boomed with a thick Eastern European accent. Suddenly, a small candle lit just in front of them, revealing a purple-skinned vampire-like male with a classy black suit and a red and yellow diagonal sash. He adjusted a small glass monocle and stared at the two intruders. He was roughly just the size of Piggy. "Ah!" he added happily. "Velcome to my home! I am the Count! I am called the Count because I love to count things!"

"Freak," Piggy muttered under her breath, looking away.

"I'm sorry, but we're tourists and the door was unlocked and we thought this was a museum," Nicky offered with a smirk.

The Count sighed and looked quite downcast. "You mean, you're not thieves?"

Nicky and Piggy looked at each other and shrugged. Nicky shook his head and looked back at the Count. "Uh … no."

"Ah, too bad," he said sadly. "I vas hoping to count thieves tonight." He turned and started to walk away, shaking his head. "I have been so bored as of late."

"Anything we can do to help?" Nicky offered, grunting briefly as Piggy stomped on his foot as a signal not to press his luck.

The Count stroked his chin and turned to face them again, his face brightening. "Ah, perhaps you vould agree to steal from me vhile I sleep?"

_This guy belongs in John Hopkins_, thought Nicky to himself. He cleared his throat. "Um … why?"

The Count laughed. "I vould love to count all the things I find missing upon avakening!" he answered.

"What're we supposed to do with all your stuff?" Piggy asked, tapping her foot impatiently.

The Count shrugged. "Who cares? Ewerything's insured."

Nicky trembled slightly, hoping the goth psycho and Piggy wouldn't see him do so.

"_You want me to do what?" Nicky inquired in disbelief of Doc Hopper as they sat in the back of a limo._

"_You heard me," he replied, chugging a beer. "Ah want you to head on over to Sesame Street an' bleed her dry."_

"_Why?"_

"_What difference does it make to you?" Hopper asked, pointing a chubby finger in Nicky's chest. "You ain't really stealin' nothin' – Ah own a good bit o' that land mahself. Ah wanna see if ya got what it takes ta do what Ah say when Ah say it an' how Ah say it. Ah just can't stand a man who waffles on me. Nobody likes a coward. You either do yer job or Ah get someone else – AFTER a messy downsizin'."_

"Don't vorry," the Count reassured the quaking man. "I have no intention of calling the police. It is just that I have counted ewerything in the castle that there is to count – the only thing left to do is count things that go missing! And I can't wery vell steal my _own_ things – I'd know precisely vhere they are!" He set down the candle on a small table and clasped his hands together. "Oh, please – _please_ do me such a generous favor! I shall be indebted to you for all time!" He winked at Piggy. "That's _one_, one debt to my new wisitors! Ah! Ah! Ah!" Lightning brightened the entire room and thunder cracked, making Piggy duck.

Nicky looked at Piggy, shrugged, and glanced back towards Count, nodding.

Author's Note: Naturally, Sesame Street isn't owned by me, nor the Hensons. Got their own gig at Sesame Workshop. If you don't support these folks, Elmo's all you're ever gonna see, y'know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Gee, Bitter Much?**

Doc Hopper, dressed in a dark grey suit, a white shirt, and a black tie, sat on a leather sofa in the front lobby of the massive financial institution, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Mr. Hopper?" asked an adult female voice. "What a pleasure it is to see you!"

Hopper stood up, dusted his legs off, and frowned at the thin Caucasian female with reddish-brown shoulder-length hair. "Ah don't like wastin' mah time, honey-bunch."

The female smirked and extended her hand. "I'm sorry," she replied snarkily. "I was busy spending all of your money. I find it quite cathartic."

Hopper chuckled and scratched his head. He nodded and shook her hand. "Long as ya let me take a peek at it ev'ry now an' again, you can do whatever you like, sugah-muffin," he added, tickling her chin.

The female executive smirked and turned around briskly, motioning for him to follow. "Let's retire to my office, shall we?"

Hopper laughed.

The woman stopped cold, clenching her fists. "_Not everything is an innuendo_," she growled. Once they were in her office, which was cold and dark, she sat down on her extravagant black leather chair and put her feet on her desk. "So," she said, "how can Bitterman Bank help Doc Hopper today?"

Doc Hopper picked up a pencil from her desk and twirled it around in his fingers. "Ah dunno," he began, "Ah hear ya got took in a right ugly deal last year – a deal that'll cost ya millions."

The woman cleared her throat and put her feet down. She leaned forward. "I assure you that I have plenty of assets," she told him. "I'm simply investing in the community."

"Funny, you don't seem like the charity type."

"Neither do you," she retorted curtly.

Hopper frowned. "It's a right shame that some little shrimp took your club away."

The woman smirked and leaned back. "It's just _awful_ how one little – admittedly frustrating – amphibian can tear down a fast-food empire … or at least a small fast-food _town_."

Hopper clenched his fists. "Ah'm sorely tempted ta take mah money _elsewhere_, Bitterman."

Ms. Bitterman laughed and shrugged. "I'm quite certain there are countless other two-bit redneck hacks with a fistful of _Monopoly_ money and a delusion of grandeur just waiting to open an account with us."

Hopper growled under his breath and stood, tipping his hat, turning, and walking away. As soon as he opened the door, a two-foot-tall green frog looked up in shock.

"_Doc Hopper_?"

Hopper couldn't help but grin. "Funny thing 'bout dreams, Kermit – nevah quite work out the way ya figure, huh?" he asked as he stomped past the small amphibian carrying a briefcase.

Ms. Bitterman cracked an expensive pen with one hand.

Kermit watched Doc Hopper leave and then entered Ms. Bitterman's office. "What was _he_ doing here? He didn't buy out the Theater, did he?"

Ms. Bitterman stared at her desk and shrugged slightly. "Why the concern?"

Kermit plopped the briefcase onto her desk, startling her. He opened it and revealed thousands of dollars in cash. "Because I had to leave my home on account of him!" He sat down, but got up again and started pacing. "Even though it wasn't always peaceful, I had a great little house over on Sesame Street. It was nicely decorated and everything!"

Ms. Bitterman watched him pace. "It's not like he tore your house down. I am also not aware of any restraining orders against you."

Kermit growled and sat back down, sulking. "I can't live in a neighborhood owned by a murderer."

Ms. Bitterman smiled genuinely for the first time today. "It wouldn't have been murder. Didn't you hear the verdict? If a human killing an animal or a plant is murder, we'd all be in prison just by virtue of eating."

Kermit bit his lower lip briefly. She enjoyed anything that made him suffer. He could never figure out why, though. She could be worse than Hopper. It didn't matter who they stepped on – as long as they made money doing it. He nodded toward the briefcase. "There's your money," he said finally. He stood, looking back at her. He spoke in a genuinely caring voice. "Ms. Bitterman? Don't turn your back on him. He knows crooks with good aim."

Ms. Bitterman granted him the barest of nods. "Not _too_ good – _you're _still here, aren't you?"

Kermit nodded once. "Still," he said quietly, "don't close your eyes around him." He left.

Doc Hopper, meanwhile, stewed in his limo. How _dare_ that overblown upstart hussy talk to him that way? It wasn't like talking to that grouch reporter – those clowns are just into being the opposite of what everyone else does. No, she _meant_ what she said, and that infuriated him. This was the third time she had brushed him off. Most women would faint on the pure sight of him. He clenched his fist so hard, a tiny trickle of blood dripped down his palm. He had no problems bagging any woman he wanted. Most men might be ashamed if a woman only loved him for his money. He shook his head. That was the only way to make sure they stuck around. Only an idiot would sacrifice a sure thing.

He nodded.

Only an idiot would sacrifice a sure thing.

Author's Note: Did I mention I don't own anything yet? Oh well … I don't.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: I'm Gonna Always Be Loving You**

Kermit the Frog sat in the bench of a small café, talking on the phone. He nodded. "Yeah, that's great. I'll be up over there next week. Uh-huh. Just tell Leon that I still sign the checks. Yeah. No, you're doing great, Digit. Just get them all fixed up and I'll take a look." He heard Piggy's voice laughing behind him. "I gotta go. You know how our dates go." There was a long pause. He scrunched up his face. "Yeah. Bye, Digit." He hung up his cell phone and turned around with his warmest smile.

And Piggy was arm in arm with … it couldn't be.

Nicky saw him first and cleared his throat. Piggy followed his gaze and gasped. When they reached Kermit's table, Piggy laughed coyly. "Kermie? I have news."

Kermit frowned as he glanced back and forth between Nicky and Piggy. "You have a new guest star?" He nodded. "I have to say … I'm surprised. I was certain Scooter insisted on background checks for each star. Oh, wait, that was me."

"Kermit? It's not what you think," Nicky offered.

"Try me," he replied. "I may be a simple swamp frog, but I can be pretty creative."

"_I'm in love, silly_!" Piggy blurted out forcefully, grabbing Nicky's arm tighter. "I need someone to love moi as I love him."

Kermit sighed. "Where are the cameras, Piggy?"

"Cameras?" Nicky and Piggy asked together.

Kermit nodded and smiled. "You _do_ realize I must be late getting her flowers or something, right, Nicky?" He chuckled and turned his back on them and sipped some water. "She's got it in her head to make me jealous. She doesn't really love you. This is just a game to her, and you're her most recent pawn."

Nicky looked down at Piggy. She was pale and trembling. Kermit was right. She was playing him … playing them both. He smiled. He knew how to play as well. "Well, Kermit," he said, still gazing at his lovely pork goddess, "I may be a pawn, but I couldn't ask for a better player. It may be a game, but I'm glad I'm on the winning side."

Piggy and Kermit both gawked at him.

Piggy cleared her throat and nodded, turning back to Kermit. "It's … not a … game, Kermie," she struggled to spit out. "This … this … is … for … for _real_," she added wistfully.

Kermit nodded and turned back and motioned for the waiter. "Well, the good news is, this saves me a lot on my bill." He gave the waiter a few bucks and stood up, facing them. He smirked. "I give it about a week. Once she tires of the novelty, she'll be at my office hoping I haven't," he glanced at Piggy, "_fired_ her."

"Actually, Kermit," Nicky said, "if you fire her for not dating you, that would be sexual harassment. She could take you to the cleaners." _See if you can come up with a retort for that, frog_, he thought to himself.

Kermit glared at Nicky and gulped. "Well, be that as it may," he managed to croak finally, "good luck." He turned and walked off.

Piggy's heart was about to break. He didn't even argue. Was she really so … disposable?

Nicky bent down on one knee and kissed her, stroking her hair. "You realize, of course, you broke his heart." He grinned. "However, I'm glad you made your decision." He caressed her cheek. "You won't regret it."

"Yeah," she replied softly, leaning against Nicky.

An hour later Nicky stared at Piggy as they sat at the café. "You've barely touched your hero."

Piggy sunk slightly lower in her seat.

"I meant your sandwich," Nicky offered.

"I _know_," she retorted.

Nicky cleared his throat. "Actually, darling, I have some news as well."

"Oh?"

"My job is taking me, uh, out of town."

"Vous just got here."

"Yeah," Nicky said, nodding, fiddling with his fork. "It's in Arizona." He sighed. "It might take a few weeks." He snapped his head up. "I _promise_, I'll return."

"I don't believe you've mentioned what kind of job you have."

Nicky chuckled and leaned back. "Private investigation." He saw her stare at him in disbelief. "Come on, Piggy," he added in a suave voice, "what better detective can there be beside a former master thief?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: The Hand of Destiny**

Nicky drove up in an old clunker and parked on the curb outside the retirement home complex in Sun City, Arizona. Hopper told him to survey the place first to find out if it was profitable. So far, Nicky was impressed: it looked less like a typical nursing home and more like a bunch of upscale condos. Even the sign out front didn't really give away what it was. Only the tiniest font at the bottom said it was a retirement home.

Nicky went in the ornate front doors and headed for the front desk. A young dark-skinned woman looked up from her computer and smiled. "Hi! May I help you?"

Nicky smiled. "I'm trying to find a good place for my father," he told her, placing one arm on the desk. "This place got pretty good ratings online. Do you mind if I take a tour?"

The woman nodded. "I'd have to call the admin first. It might take a few minutes."

Nicky nodded and patted the desk. "That's fine. Let's take a few minutes."

The woman blushed and called the admin. Nicky turned around as a burly man appeared. He extended his hand. "Hello, my name is Phil. I'm the administrator here. I understand you're thinking of our community?"

Nicky nodded.

"Excellent!" he replied, clapping his hands together. "Let's go." He brought Nicky past the main lobby to a large conference room. "We use this area for lots of things: meetings, bingo, movie night, religious services –all voluntary, of course." He pointed to the walls, all lined with various metal sculptures and paintings and clothes. "This month we're celebrating art. All of these items were made by our residents."

Nicky nodded, smiling, and gravitated toward a large metal sculpture resembling a broad-faced dog with a strange object in its mouth. He reached out but stopped just short of touching it. He looked back at Phil. "Do you mind?"

Phil chuckled. "I don't think you can break it. It's made out of junkyard steel."

Nicky nodded again and just grazed the object in the dog's mouth with his finger. A jolt of electricity went through him and he heard a barely audible whisper.

"_You could be a cowboy. You could be a creep. You could be the king of all the good things in your sleep. You could be the person that you most admire! You could be a walking, talking, breathing ball of fire!_"

Nicky gasped and jumped backwards three feet.

Phil laughed. "Static shock?" He nodded. "Yeah, that can be a killer, alright."

Nicky cradled his finger and nodded briefly. "Yeah." He couldn't take his eyes away from the strange blackened warped piece of metal.

Piggy sat down in a gothic chair. "I was surprised when vous invited me."

Count von Count brought her a cup of tea and sat down across from her. He grinned. "I am happy to have wisitors! Tell me, how are things vith your good friend? I vas surprised to see him return all my things the next morning before breakfast."

She sipped some tea and crossed her legs. "He has a job in Arizona. He should return in a few weeks."

The Count nodded and leaned forward and patted her on the hand. "If you think I'm going to interfere vith your relationships, please do not. Ve are friends!"

"We are?" Piggy asked, staring at him.

"But of course! This is a free country. You need no one's permission to have new friends." He glanced at his watch. "I apologize to seem so rude, but I must go over to Bitterman Bank before noon. There is a landowner meeting there." He sighed. "I vas to discuss some important dewelopments with Doc Hopper."

Piggy spewed out her tea. "_Doc Hopper_?"

"Yes," Count replied slowly. "He bought a significant percentage of Sesame Street and the surrounding enwironment. Vith his inwestments, Sesame Street has been able to afford many improvements over the years."

"He's a complete sociopath!" Piggy protested, banging her fist on the armrest of her chair.

Count raised his hands in a placating gesture. "He has giwen us no cause for concern."

"He wanted Kermit _deep fried_!"

Count closed his mouth and looked away pensively. He stared at a large stone fireplace, with glow-in-the-dark numbers along his mantle, for several moments. "I see." He sighed and nodded. "That explains Kermit's sudden move avay from Sesame Street. The poor frog – he vas really at home there. Ve all miss him terribly." He shook his head. "His house is still wacant, as I recall. It vould be nice if he could return."

"I'm going with you," Piggy announced.

Count sighed. "I have no problems vith you coming along. However, this is a matter of business. I do not feel comfortable bringing up a past that has nothing to do vith me."

"But Bitterman and Hopper are _both_ people who tried to ruin us!" Piggy's voice cracked. "_She_ tried to tear down our theater. _He_ followed us around the country trying to kill Kermit!"

Count von Count nodded and clasped his hands together. "Legally, there is wery little I can do, you see." He pointed at her. "They have done nothing wrong. And I don't have the controlling stake in the matter, if you'll excuse the pun." He chuckled briefly.

Piggy looked around. "_You're_ swimming in it – just buy out Hopper."

Count shrugged. "These are mostly family heirlooms. They are waluabe mostly only to me and my family. I have been wery vise vith my inwestments, but I cannot match Hopper's _or_ Bitterman's assets."

"Is there anyone else on Sesame Street with that kind of dough?"

Count shook his head. "It took an inwestor to improve things there. If there had been anyone vith ewen a tenth of my assets, they would not have lived in a depressed neighborhood for so long." He nodded. "That is why ve all vorked together under the frog's inspiration to create our own educational programs. It is a kind of shared inwestment." He took her gently by the hand and kissed it. "I vill take you to see Ms. Bitterman before our meeting. Doc Hopper is always fashionably late. You should be able to speak vith her before he arrives." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I am afraid that is all I can do."

"They're just a bunch of old people," Nicky complained on his cell phone as he drove back to his motel. "Hardly worth the trouble."

"Ah didn't ask you fer their ages," Hopper growled on the other end. "Ah wanted ta know if they were loaded."

"Most of them can barely afford the rent. It's over three-thousand a month!" Nicky retorted.

"Then they got some dough," Hopper concluded.

"But -."

"But nothin'!" Hopper barked. "You ain't no Robin Hood, boy. This is business. If Ah wanna buy them out an' shove a bunch o' wrinkled ol' men an' women out into the desert, that's exactly what Ah'll do!"

"Over my dead body."

"Don't _tempt_ me, boy," Hopper replied with a deadly tone.

Nicky hung up on him and threw the cell phone into the backseat. He drove past his motel, unable to focus. Hopper was a cruel and vindictive man. His sister wasn't even that bad. She was merely arrogant and snobby.

Hopper was out for blood.

Nicky sighed. Whatever path he had wanted for his life, it had now taken a complete 180 and he found himself lost and disoriented.

He wouldn't be a killer though. He wouldn't do what Hopper wanted and rob a retirement community just so property values could go down.

He thought about that strange metal object he touched.

Well, maybe he would take just that _one_ thing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Going Downhill From Here**

Ms. Bitterman looked up from her desk as Miss Piggy entered her office and sat down on a small chair. "You know," she began condescendingly, "you can ask for an increase in credit over the phone."

"I have been made aware that you do business with Doc Hopper," Piggy stated without emotion, skipping the small talk. "I would like to discuss options."

"My clientele list is confidential," Ms. Bitterman replied.

"I have lots of contacts."

Ms. Bitterman chuckled. "I also know what all of my customers have. You have quite a bit of credit card debt. Why should I even listen to you?"

Piggy frowned. "Doc Hopper must be put out of business."

Ms. Bitterman leaned back and stared at the pig in confusion. "Why do you even _care_ about some preschool ghetto?"

"So, he _is_ a major investor there."

Ms. Bitterman cursed herself silently. She hated it when she walked right into a trap. Still, she shrugged and decided to humor the pork diva. "I'm a profit-minded woman. What's in it for me?"

"His investments?"

Ms. Bitterman shook her head. "Oh, no – I'm not taking on another tired Muppet project. I will _never_ throw my money away again on such fool-headed nonsense."

Piggy smirked. "Vous shouldn't have fired the shrimp. He really _is_ useful, after all. Besides, I didn't mean just Sesame Street – I meant _all_ of his investments. It is my understanding vous intend to meet with him today."

Ms. Bitterman stared at Miss Piggy. Something was most definitely up. Was Piggy implying what she _thought_ Piggy was implying? "How would I get my hands on all of his money?" she asked, testing the waters, resting her chin on her hand.

"Nothing illegal, naturalement," Piggy replied softly. "However, the contract could name you the beneficiary."

"The contract says no such thing," Ms. Bitterman said, smiling.

Piggy smiled knowingly. "However, contracts _do_ have a strange habit of changing when in your presence."

"Hopper, unlike the Muppets, isn't stupid enough to have only one copy."

Piggy nodded. "Haven't vous ever watched _Sesame Street_? There is a little thing called subtraction." She adjusted the pearl necklace that draped down her chest. "If such a mathematical phenomenon could be arranged, would you be interested?"

Ms. Bitterman shrugged. "I can't be involved in such messy and _illegal_ things."

Piggy smirked. "But, Ms. Bitterman – vous and moi are very similar. We are both women who love to get our way."

Ms. Bitterman smiled and stood. "Feel free to show yourself out, Miss Piggy. Should your proposal seem viable, we'll talk."

That night, Nicky walked into the retirement home and chatted up the night attendant at the front desk. _Thank God the healthcare field is made up of mostly women_, he thought to himself. He asked for permission to see the art exhibit he'd heard about, because his uncle was one of the artists. She gave him permission and pointed to the door. He thanked her profusely and waved as he walked toward the still-open conference room.

"We'll be closing it at nine," she announced.

"Sure thing," he told her cheerfully. He walked in and went straight for the strange object. He ignored the sudden zap he got as he deftly replaced it with an old beat up hubcap. He fastened the object in a specially-made jacket that had a hidden compartment for something that could fit that – though it fit only barely. It was terribly uncomfortable. He adjusted it so it wasn't jabbing him in the back and then he walked out with a camera and a nod.

"Get some good pictures?" the attendant asked with a giggle.

"Oh, yeah, definitely," he told her, making sure to keep his back out of her sight, just in case. "I'm going to make prints of these for my uncle."

"That's so sweet," she told him.

"Yeah, he's a good ol' man." Nicky snapped his fingers. "Oh, by the way, do you have a menu for what's being served tomorrow? I'd like to join him for dinner."

"Sure, it's in the drawer back here. I'll get one for you."

As soon as she turned around, Nicky walked out the door.

In the motel Nicky called Doc Hopper. "Okay, look, I got something."

"Some_thing_?" Hopper asked angrily. "As in, a _singular_ word?"

"What do you expect from a bunch of Medicare patients?"

Nicky stretched out his arm to distance his ear from the phone, though he could hear Hopper cursing at that distance. He tried putting it back to his ear.

"How _dare_ you chicken out on me, Max -."

"Nicky."

"Don't you _evah_ correct me again, you fool boy!" Hopper shouted. "Soon as Ah get done with mah dinner, you can consider yourself _fired_!"

"My apologies," Nicky retorted with a smirk.

"An' you can just wipe that smirk off yer face," Hopper continued. "Walker'll getcha yer pink slip. You disappoint me, boy." Click.

Nicky sighed and punched in Piggy's number.

"Bon soir," she cheerfully announced. "This is Miss Piggy."

"This is Nicky."

"Oooooh, how is Arizona this time of year?"

"Hot," he chuckled. After a short pause, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Miss Piggy. I seem to have investigated a hornet's nest. I don't think I can make it back to New York."

"But you _promised_."

Nicky held the phone for several moments.

"Nicky?" Piggy cleared her throat. "I really do love vous." She paused. "I … I regret the suffering our movie caused vous."

Nicky sighed and nodded. "I know, Piggy. You remember a guy named Doc Hopper?" Piggy didn't respond. "He used to own this really awful fast food joint back in the day, before we met." He paused. "I think I've upset him."

"Be careful Nicky," Piggy told him softly. He could hear her voice waiver. "He's willing to do terrible things."

"I kinda figured that out. Piggy, you," he gulped, "should stick with the frog. I'm certain his world would be nothing without you."

Piggy took several seconds to respond, but it seemed like an eternity. "Nicky? Are vous saying what I think vous are saying?"

Nicky clenched the phone tightly, biting his lip. He had no idea why he loved her like he did. All he knew was that he did. She was everything he wanted in a woman, even though she was a pig. "Goodbye, Piggy."

"Don't give up, Nicky," Piggy whispered. "Kermie taught us to never give up hope, no matter how bad it is." She sniffled. "Let me make a phone call."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: That's a Wrap**

"No more holidays," Snake Walker croaked as he fired his harpoon gun.

Nicky Holiday, stung by being swiped across his chest, couldn't move, so he closed his eyes. He didn't know if being harpooned by a trident would be painful … but at least he didn't have to watch. He heard a cartoony clang.

"_Ow_!" yelled a goofy male voice. "_That's sharp_!"

Nicky cracked open one eye. A giant blue shield floated just in front of him. Huh?

Walker remained grim and reloaded. He glared at the giant googly-eyed face that stared at him on the shield. "More 'an one way to kill a … whatever ya are."

The shield frowned. It turned into a large rocket and exploded just inches from Walker's face in a shower of multicolored sparks. Walker yelled in shock and fell backwards. A blue and white rubber-duckie-shaped creature with googly eyes and a red and yellow-striped floppy top hat appeared, then turned into a blue fire hose with eyes and blasted Walker with so much water he got flung clear across the roof. As soon as the creature was satisfied with the result, he changed back into the rubber-duckie-like creature and turned toward Nicky. He spoke with concern, "You okay?"

Nicky grunted as he slowly sat up. "I … unh … hesitate to ask what you are."

The creature grinned and flew in a backwards loop-de-loop. "You can call me Waldo, Waldo C. Graphic!" he announced cheerfully. He stopped and hovered just in front of Nicky's face. "Your girlfriend's mighty worried about ya!"

"Piggy?"

Waldo nodded. "She called Muppet Central at this late hour and demanded I get here an' rescue you." He chuckled. "You better be glad I can move through TV an' the internet! Thanks to the good ol' speed of light, I was right here in a jiffy!" He sighed. "Still, I can't exactly be away from all things electronic for too long. Think you can get on by yourself?"

Nicky stared at the two fallen Walkers. His chest hurt. He wouldn't be able to run very far that hurt at his age. "Are they out?"

Waldo glanced at them. "I can go make sure for ya, but then I gotta go." He turned into a giant mallet.

The next morning, Doc Hopper frowned as he walked through the lobby of a hotel toward his limo. He called and called, but the Walker gang wouldn't answer.

What would it take to get decent help nowadays?

He walked outside, grumbling. The doorman nodded and told him his limo driver picked up a girl for him and drove to the back parking garage. Doc Hopper's face reddened. Workers shouldn't get it into their heads to act without his permission. Independent thinking was enough to get you … unemployed, to say the least. He walked to the back parking garage and found his limo. He walked around to the front driver's side … only to find the driver unconscious and tied up.

"What the -?"

"_HIIIIII-YAAAAA!_"

Hopper dropped to the ground, his back flaring up with a sharp, burning pain. He barely turned his head around. Piggy stood there, seething. "Y-you?"

"I'm not Kermie," Piggy told him. "He may not be willing to take care of things, but I am."

Hopper glared at her. He chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she growled.

"This makes mah meetin' with that bitter ol' witch make a heap more sense," he grunted. "Ah was wond'rin' what she was up ta. Ah s'pose you're in on it as well."

"You're going to stay away from Kermie _and_ Nicky. That is _all_ moi has to know!" she shot back triumphantly.

Doc grinned and nodded. "Ah'm awful light-headed … an' Ah can see at least two o' ya." He sighed. "Won't be long now, Ah s'pose."

"Vous want moi to pity you just because _your back hurts_?" she growled, taking his tie and yanking it closer to her.

Hopper started to pant. "You … you … bettah hope those security cameras in this here garage … don't … work ..." He closed his eyes.

Piggy looked up.

A camera aimed right for her.

A red light blinked.

She cursed to herself.

Ms. Bitterman grinned as she watched TV in her office later that morning. Miss Piggy was struggling against the burly arms of some police as they took her from the parking garage behind the hotel where Doc Hopper frequented. She thumbed through the paperwork on the new contract that she had had to debase herself to squeeze out of that redneck tightwad, making her bank the beneficiary on the event of death.

Hopper hadn't been exactly Donald Trump, but it made her wound from buying out the Theater less painful.

And at least Sesame Street was a profitable neighborhood.

She watched as Piggy screamed for Kermit and Nicky before being thrown roughly into the back of the squad car. She couldn't stop grinning.

Love was an awful thing to fight for.

Nicky held onto the scrap metal he had taken from that retirement home. When he stared at it from a particular angle, it resembled an obscenely large metal crown that had been squashed and burned. He watched Piggy get arrested on the news. She cried out for him, and he cringed.

Piggy was too kind-hearted to kill anyone maliciously. She had to be manipulated into doing it. Surely she had been framed, one of those "wrong place, wrong time" things.

Still …

… now she knew how it felt.

**The End -**


End file.
